


i'll carve out a space in this world for you

by pepperfield



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Parents & Children, Prospit, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperfield/pseuds/pepperfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parents will do whatever is best for their children.</p><p>[150-word-snippet collection about Prospit family relations.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll carve out a space in this world for you

**Author's Note:**

> AO3 thinks I am missing a word. Mysterious. May have accidentally cheated with the use of hyphens. Whoops!

She is so frigging perfect. It's almost too difficult to deal with. You carry her on your back, where she's learned to cling tight so you can pull out your pistols if needed. You'll teach her how to shoot when she's older. Right now, it's all gardening and music, with some occasional baby archaeology (digging on the beach) and tiny fisticuffs (waving her tubby little arms around). There's a lot of work to be done, preparing this home for the two of you, but sometimes a gent's gotta take a proper adventure to liven things up.

"I think it's about high time you pillaged your first crypt, Jade! Others may think you a bit young, but if that gleam in your eye doesn't say 'precocious' and 'acute,' well, cleave me down with Cortes' own cutlass!"

She gives you that brilliant smile in response. She looks just like your sister.

 

\--

 

You wake up that morning and know that it's time. Time to die. The thought brings a crooked smile to your face, and you creakily shuffle out of bed. Your bones aren't quite what they used to be, after all. Downstairs, your son whistles as he prepares breakfast. Better get to it, it'll be your last.

As you polish off your meal, you plan out one final water-bucket-on-the-door trick. Just something for him to remember you by. A spark of levity in his life; he's going to need it when he's changing diapers and waiting out long hours when his new bundle of joy is wailing her lungs out.

You step outside while your son washes the dishes. The sky is clear and the temperature warm. It's a good day for a birthday. If you squint, you can pretend to see your granddaughter arriving: your favorite cosmic knock knock joke.

 

\--

 

On the day your son first lifts the refrigerator in order to dust behind it, you bequeath him with your husband's good hat. You never see him without it, through the day you die. When you find it, bloodied and battered, deserted on the battlefield, you know it means only one thing. You wish you could shield John from the truth, but like you and your son have both said, he's a good, strong boy. Someday he'll be a good man.

So when you see him, alone on the great, golden ship, turning his father's wallet over and over in his hands, you wrap ghostly arms around him as best you can, something you were never able to do in life. You're so proud of him for having come this far, and you're equally proud of your son for raising him well. You were wrong; John's already a good man.

 

\--

 

Let it never be said that you have no conviction. The newsreels buzz with her taunts and her slander, but you don't look back. That world is closed to you now; your whole universe is here in your arms.

You know how it will all unfold. There's no chance you're making it out alive, and you hate to leave Jake alone. But everyone has an important role to play, and yours has been written into the clouds since your arrival on Earth. So you hitch up your skirt and strap your best rifle to your back, before taking your first step onto your island, which welcomes you like an old friend.

Jake squeezes your hand, and you smile down and squeeze back. She's never going to sink her claws into him. You'll make sure of it. Pulling him close, you both descend into the dark, lush embrace of the trees.

 

\--

 

It isn't pity. That's the farthest possible feeling you could be having about these filthy, hornless, soft-bodied mutants. Still, there's no honor in culling a wiggler. So you let them grow as you bide your time. Let them fester in the mutual platonic hatred you cultivate. You catalog every emotion, every reaction, to try and understand these aliens. How could they ever be your downfall?

(The male finally flees with his beast, off to explore your future territories. He is no threat.)

The female screams and spits and scratches, every word dripping with vitriol. You only realize you've underestimated her years later, when she resurfaces with a new name.

(The female accepts your lessons, takes on your challenge. You allow her the reward of truth. Even armed with it, there's nothing she can do.)

The male doesn't leave. You do not know what to make of his jokes, his smile.


End file.
